


And Down into the Blue

by laconicisms



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Biting, Bondage, D/s, Gags, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nipple Play, Safewords, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-07
Updated: 2010-10-07
Packaged: 2017-10-12 11:49:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/124524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laconicisms/pseuds/laconicisms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If there is one thing Ianto cares about in this relationship of theirs, it's keeping Jack happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Down into the Blue

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to czarina_kitty , who did a wonderful beta job on this. Any mistakes you find are mine.  
> Set in Season 2.

Whenever Ianto tried to pinpoint the exact time it had begun – and he did this a lot, pinpointing times, archiving things in his mind for when he needed to draw on the information – he was left with the feeling that there was no definite starting point. (He blamed Jack for this. Jack never made things easy.) It was a spiral, a slow descent, on which he had not picked up while it happened and now that he had noticed, there was no way to say when it had begun.

If he had to guess however (Ianto did not like _guessing_ ), he'd decide it was the day that Jack had gripped his wrists (the strength in these hands had made him think _iron_ and _inescapable_ and _hot_ ), put them over his head and told him to _lie still_.

And Ianto had done exactly that.

He had kept still while Jack had slowly opened his shirt, taking his time with each and every one of his seven mother-of-pearl buttons, staring into eyes, pausing in between sometimes to kiss and lick and nibble on the exposed flesh, then grin wickedly while Ianto _tried not to move_ and to hold back moans at the same time (he succeeded at the first but not at the second).

He had kept still when finally, finally all the buttons had been undone and Jack had brushed both sides of the shirt aside, the sensation of the fabric sliding across his skin raising goosebumps (or maybe it had been Jack's eyes upon him that had, or maybe both).

He had kept still even when Jack's teeth had closed upon his left nipple without warning (and God, but it had hurt!), biting down hard enough that Ianto thought he was trying to bite it off before releasing it and 'kissing it all better' (Jack's words).

He hadn't kept still when Jack had proposed to give the same treatment to his right nipple.

"No way." Ianto shook his head, struggled to sit up, then thought better of it when he noticed that that put his nipples into closer proximity to Jack's teeth. "No," he repeated.

For a while, Jack simply looked at him. A neutral stare, no recrimination, no disappointment, no anger; just a look that said 'I heard what you said', 'I'm not doing it, see', and 'you can calm down, now'. The hand that rested just above his hip was warm and reassuring, and it stroked him, petted him, like one would pet a child or maybe a frightened animal. Soothing. "You don't have to let me do it," Jack finally said. He paused, and for some entirely insane reason Ianto felt disappointed. "But it would make me happy if you did."

It was on the tip on his tongue to ask why. Why would it make Jack happy if Ianto allowed, if he held still while Jack _mauled_ him, but then he remembered that he did all kinds of things just to make Jack happy and not all of them were particularly pleasant. Like removing putrid alien slime from Jack's favourite pair of boots – which he quite easily could have had replaced instead. Or reorganising the leaflets in the tourist office because Jack kept knocking them down when they, well, snogged there. (He thought Jack did it just so he could watch him bend over to pick them up). Or – he was brought out of his contemplations when Jack shifted above him and drew back.

Coming to a decision, Ianto brought his hands back up over head.

"I like you happy," he said while his heart pounded, pushing and pulling blood away from his head and downwards.

It didn't hurt any less the second time around, but he was a bit more prepared. Watching Jack's expression also helped, because... because...

Because the intensity in his eyes grounded him, froze him when he would have struggled, and made him harden even though the pain had driven any sign of arousal from his mind and body initially. When Jack released him at last, Ianto took a shuddering breath, noticing the black spots in his vision for the first time and thought that Jack had probably not meant for him to be _that_ still. It made him laugh and gasp while Jack patted his hair, and held him, and told him he was very brave and good and that Jack was very grateful.

Sometime later he announced that Ianto deserved a reward. The reward turned out to be Jack bringing him off with his hand (Jack had very nimble hands) while fucking him from behind, which really wasn't any different from what they normally did. However... However, it _felt_ different. He felt different. Still hot and aroused but also like... like the times when Jack smiled at him for keeping everything running smoothly when the Rift was feeling particularly nasty: Warm and good and proud of himself.

*

Jack had a thing for making him keep silent, Ianto discovered three weeks (and a great amount of what he liked to term 'avant garde sex') later. It wasn't that Ianto was particularly mouthy (though he sometimes was) or that he talked too much (sometimes he did not talk enough). It simply seemed to be something Jack found hot.

"Sir," Ianto began after Tosh had left – she was the last out of the Hub that night – and before Jack came any closer with a... was that a ball gag in his hand?

Jack paused just outside Ianto's personal space, holding up the..., yes, it was a ball gag, and raising an eyebrow.

Ianto felt himself flush. "I thought you liked my vowels, sir."

"They are lovely," Jack replied, "but I hear those from you all day."

"You've tired of them then?" That was … disappointing.

"Never," Jack assured him, dangling the gag in front of Ianto's eyes, waiting. Ianto sighed.

"I need to finish cleaning, sir."

"You can do that without talking, yeah?"

He quite conceivably could, which Jack knew and Jack also knew that Ianto knew that he knew … he was going to give himself a headache thinking about this. And needlessly because, really, he couldn't see any way to talk Jack out of this (if he did not wish to safeword, that was).

"Of course, sir."

It felt strange, being gagged, while going about his nightly tasks: sweeping the floor, clearing away coffee mugs, kneeling down and crawling around on the floor because Jack insisted he had dropped one of the Torchwood-issue contact lenses. (He was not at all surprised when Jack's hand settled on his arse and Jack whispered that he could stop searching now, the lens had been there all along).

It felt hot, too; even more so when Jack informed him of the point of this exercise.

"When we are here alone," he breathed into Ianto's ear, "I want you to put that mouth to good use or no use at all." Good use, Jack explained, included kissing, nibbling and licking Jack's mouth and sucking his cock. It did not include talking unless Jack wanted to hear him talk.

The thought of Jack controlling his mouth, deploying it like one would a tool (and consequently deploying _Ianto_ like a tool) made his cock swell. Ianto _mewled_ and arched his back, his hands flying to his zipper. Jack took hold of them, however, nipping at his ear and tsking. "Bad Ianto, no cookie." Then Jack released him to pull off Ianto's tie and turned him around. "Hands behind your back."

Ianto obeyed (how could he not?), and Jack secured his arms behind him. He ran a hand over Ianto's head, ruffling his hair, then letting it slide down until his thumb rested against Ianto's lip. "Now will you be a good boy?"

He would, Ianto thought and nodded, he so would (because it would make Jack happy, and making Jack happy made Ianto happy).

"You sure?" Jack asked. "Because I'm not convinced you've learned the right amount of humility yet." The thumb that had been resting against his bottom lip slid in between the gag and his lip and pulled.

Ianto began to drool. Entirely involuntarily, and he tried to stop, tried to swallow, but there was nothing that he could do. The drool kept escaping his mouth, running down his chin, gathering, dripping; and Jack leaned in to whisper, to scold him, breath ghosting over his ear. "Really, Ianto. Making such a mess."

His eyes began to burn, and Ianto realised that he was fighting tears. He could not fight the blush, far too late for that, and even as he thought that, the first drop of salty water left his eyes. The thumb that had started the flood of drool now reached up to wipe away his tears, and Ianto's eyes fluttered shut. "Shh," Jack said, first leaving a kiss upon Ianto's left eyelid, then on his right.

He'd disappointed Jack. There was no way to stop the tears, there was no reason to stop the blush first caused by humiliation, now by shame. (Ianto had known better, he had.) He couldn't stop crying; he also couldn't breathe properly, and he was starting to hick-up. Vaguely he heard Jack safe out, but this only registered when the gag was removed and he could breathe more easily. (His nose had clogged up. How had he not noticed that this was what had made breathing difficult?) Jack's arms crept around him, and he was pulled into a hug. "Shh," Jack said again.

"I'm sorry."

"I know," Jack murmured, rubbing his back. "It's okay."

*

Later that night, as they were lying on the couch (Ianto was lying, that was, with is head on Jack's lap, and he felt loved, and content, and calm), Ianto thought that he didn't care when this had started. He only cared that it never ended.


End file.
